


Johnny (Minotaur)

by TheTravelerWrites



Series: Commissions [10]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1860's California, Anal Sex, Cowboy Minotaur, Cowboys, Exophilia, Gay Monster, Gay Sex, Gold Rush, Gun Violence, Interspecies Relationship, M/M, MONSTER FUCKER, Monster Lover, Post Gold Rush, Reader Insert, Reader-Insert, gay reader, male monster, male reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19273246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTravelerWrites/pseuds/TheTravelerWrites
Summary: The reader is called to a boomtown by his uncle, who is the mayor, to be the new deputy for the sheriff. It doesn't take long for him to realize the stern, stoic sheriff is hiding a secret.*Note: Bláithín is pronounced "Blaw-heen."





	Johnny (Minotaur)

September, 1866. The California gold rush had ended more than ten years ago, but people continued to move out there in the hopes of finding their fortune. As such, small towns popped up all over the west faster than the census could keep up. Your uncle was the mayor in one such town and had written you a letter asking you to come out to help. 

A rabble of undesirables had made camp just outside of town, and there wasn’t enough lawmen in the fledgling town of Redington to keep them at bay. He knew from letters with your father that you’d had a tough time adjusting to life in the city after living on a farm for most of your life, so he asked if you’d be interested in coming out to be the deputy for the newly-appointed sheriff, John.

He warned you in his letter that the sheriff was gruff and taciturn with more muscle than charm, having been a lawman for more than fifteen years already. He was a minotaur, which actually put you at ease; you’d worked with minotaurs on the farm before.

After writing back to inform your uncle that you’d accepted the job, you packed your belongings, bid farewell to the few friends you’d made while in the city, and caught a train west.

The train didn’t go right to the town, so you’d had to hire a stagecoach to take you the rest of the way.

“It’s gon’ be a rough trip,” the grizzled coachman said. “We’ll be runnin’ through them ol’ boys territory, unless yer wantin’ go the long way, which is another day’s ride and is gon’ cost you another five dollars.”

“You got a gun?” You asked him.

He snorted and pulled a hidden six shooter and a four-chamber Colt revolver from his vest.

You nodded. “We’ll be takin’ the short way, then.”

He shrugged as if to say _your funeral_ and jerked his chin, indicating it was time to go, and you threw your bags into the coach and followed behind.

About two hours into the ride, your heard a loud whistle and the horses shied, bringing the coach to a standstill. From the window, you could see about four men on horses, leaning over their pommels with guns in hand. None were larger than a .36 or a .44, and most were single shooters.

“Whatcha’ got in there, Earlie?” One of the men said.

“Some city-slicker too cheap to pay for the long way,” The coachman said dispassionately. “Ain’t worth much by my reckonin’, and I ain’t got nothing fer ya neither, Lloyd, so git.”

“Let’s get him out here, then,” Lloyd said. “Have a chat with ‘em.”

The coachman sighed and thumped the roof. “What say you, stranger?”

You took your shotgun and your gun belt out of your bags and slung it around your waist before stepping out.

“Afternoon, boys,” You said, placing your hat on your head and shouldering your shotgun. “What can I do for ya?”

The leader, Lloyd, squinted down at you. He was a dirty mess, like all in his group, but he had contrastingly white teeth that seemed to be the only thing about his appearance he cared for.

“Well, newcomer, I don’t blame you for not knowin’, but there’s a toll to pass through these parts.”

“A toll, eh?” You said, scratching your nose. “Well, I’m afraid I ain’t got no money to give you boys, but I got a job waitin’ for me in that town up ahead. I’d be happy to pay it once I’m set up.”

Lloyd clucked his tongue. “See, now, that’s a problem for us,” He said. “If we let you through without payin’, ever-body’s gon’ think it’s fine to not pay. And then how we gon’ make a livin’, huh?”

“Get an honest job and stop shakin’ folk down with phony tolls?” You suggested.

“Hey!” Lloyd shouted from his horse, making it prancing in place in agitation. “We provide a service! If it weren’t fer us, any good-for-nothing could come wanderin’ into our town.”

“Your town, huh?” You asked. “I wonder how many people in that town would agree with that statement.”

“Hey, you wanna shut your trap?” Earlie hissed. “You tryna get us shot?”

“No need,” You said with a smile, looking at the horizon. “The cavalry is comin’.”

Out in the distance, two horses were trotting up to greet you. On one was your uncle, and on the other was a large, black bison minotaur with a grim look on his face. He wore a grey shirt with a pinstripe vest and dark, sturdy trousers. He also had on a coat with loops instead of buttonholes and a large stetson with holes for his massive horns. He had two sidearms and a bandolier slung over one shoulder. His silver sheriff’s badge shown brightly in the high sunlight.

“Lloyd,” He said, nodding politely, but there was a hint of a warning in his deep, gravelly voice. “Boys. What’re y’all doin’ here?”

“Just greeting the newcomer, sheriff,” Lloyd said, smiling a blinding, disingenuous smile. “Wanted to make sure he understood how things work ‘round here.”

“My nephew, the new deputy, will learn how things work well enough without your help, Lloyd,” Uncle George said.

The smile slipped from Lloyd’s mouth, leaving a sour look on his face. “I reckon he will, then,” He said darkly. “Come on, boys. We ain’t got no more business here. For now.”

The men whooped and hollered and turned their horses, riding off in a cloud of dust.

“Good riddance,” Your uncle said, jumping down.

“Hey, Uncle George!” You said, reaching out for a hug.

George reciprocated. “Good to see you, my boy!” He held you at arms length and looked you up and down. “You’re thin! City life disagrees with you, son.”

“That, I can’t argue,” You said, grinning.

“Son, this is our sheriff, John,” Uncle George said, motioning to the large minotaur.

“Call me Johnny,” He said, shaking your hand firmly. “You handled yourself well. My last potential deputy pissed himself when Lloyd rode up on ‘im.”

You laughed loudly. “Well, I’m used to runnin’ off cattle thieves back on my pa’s farm. That Lloyd feller seems like the same sort of lowlife.”

“Hey,” The coachman said. “This is a lovely reunion and all, but you only paid for the day. You wanna sit around flappin’ yer gums, you can either pay another dollar for makin’ me wait around or I can high tail it outta here, up to y’all.”

“Hush, Earlie,” Uncle George said. “Come on, boy, get up in the coach ‘fore Earlie pitches a fit. Let’s get you to town and settled in.”

You’d been to this town once before, when your uncle, who was a wealthy man in New York, moved out here with a bunch of settlers to put the town up. You’d helped him build his house, and a few of the other houses as well, before your uncle decided you’d done enough for him and sent you home. As thanks, your uncle had left you his house in the city, but you soon found yourself out of your element and uncomfortable there. Getting the letter from your uncle had been a relief.

As soon as you got into town, the coach stopped and you retrieved your bags. Both Uncle George and Sheriff Johnny leapt off their horses and tied them to a hitching post with a water trough.

“You’re still familiar with the town, I assume?” George asked.

“Yessir,” You said.

“Well, not much has changed since you been here last, so I’ll let Johnny here take the reins and show you your job.” He slapped Johnny on the shoulder. “I’ve got some work needs doing at town hall, but I’ll meet up with you at The Sixer’s saloon later, all right?”

“Sure thing, Uncle,” You replied, shaking his hand before he walked off.

“Well, then,” Johnny said, folding his arms. “You got any experience with bein’ a lawman, kid?”

“No sir,” You said.

“But you’ve done farmwork? You look strong,” He said, looking you up and down, appraising you.

You tried not to blush. “I’m a fair hand and a good worker.”

“How’s your shot?”

“Middlin’. Better at long range.”

“That’ll do,” He said. “Lemme show you the jailhouse.”

You followed him to the jail and he opened the door. There were three cells, bare, but there were bedrolls stored on shelves in the walls of each. There was a table with two chairs, a desk full of papers, and a wanted board with a few posters on it. There was a door, which led to a bunkroom with four beds, each with it’s own side table and chest of drawers. Only one of the beds looked used; the others looked brand new.

“Take any bed you like,” Johnny told you. “There ain’t no other deputies, but in a town this small, more’n one is too many.”

“What about them boys threatenin’ the town?” You asked him, laying your bags on the bed across from Johnny’s.

Johnny snorted. “Your uncle’s over-reactin’. It’s nothing I couldn’t have handled on my own.”

“How many are there?”

“Other’n Lloyd and the boys you saw outside of town? About three or four more. Their leader is a minotaur named Randall.”

“I was under the assumption Lloyd was the leader,” You told him, surprised.

“Well, I guess that’s your first lesson, then,” Johnny said, sitting on his bunk. It creaked under his weight. “Don’t go assumin’ things. Randall likes to… supervise, I s’pose. He lets Lloyd take care of his business unless things get rowdy. Randall only likes to jump in when there’s an ass whoopin’ to be dealt. He loves any chance to prove he’s the biggest swingin’ dick on this side of the tracks.”

“Yeah, I knew a few o’ them back in my town,” You replied evenly. “Lemme guess, mean drunk?”

“Right on the money,” Johnny said. “He’s a short, stumpy, angry son of a bitch just about all the time, but more so when he drinks. And he drinks a lot. And often. Other’n that, this job ain’t so hard. Break up fights, arrest troublemakers, that sorta thing. Simple fights get a few days in a cell, assaults are a couple weeks and a fine. Anything bigger’n that goes in front of the judge. Judge Jones makes a rulin’ and we take care of the rest. We don’t hold prisoners indefinitely; long term prisoners are taken to the big house in Sacramento. We do the hangin’s here, though.”

“Have there been many hangin’s?” You asked.

“None so far,” Johnny said, taking a swig from a flask that was sitting on his bedside table. “And I aim to keep it that way.”

“Hence my arrival,” You ventured.

Johnny huffed a laugh. “No offense, kid, but I was doin’ just fine long before that uncle o’ yours got a bee in his bonnet about Randall and his boys. I didn’t ask for help, don’t think I need any help, and you comin’ here hasn’t changed my mind an inch. Just do as your told and stay outta my way, and we’ll get along just fine.”

You ducked your head sideways in acknowledgement. “Fair enough. Hopefully I won’t be sittin’ around all the time, though. I like to be movin’ and doin’.”

“There’ll be plenty for you to do, kid, don’t you be worryin’ ‘bout that,” He said, slapping both of his knees and standing abruptly. “Come on, let’s get you squared away. We’re gon’ need to get the blacksmith to fashion you a badge. You can unpack later.”

As Johnny promised, there was plenty to do, including cleaning the cells, brushing down Johnny’s horse, and mending the corral fence. If you didn’t know better, you were more of a work hand to Johnny than a deputy. You might have been annoyed by this, but it was better than city living. New York was just so damn boring and unfamiliar compared to the farm. This was all more natural to you.

Later that evening, you and Johnny met up with your uncle and an older gentleman in the Sixer’s. They were at a table playing cribbage and eating an evening meal. Uncle George bid the two of you to pull up a seat and asked the centaur barmaid to bring two more bowls of stew and some beer.

“Son, this is my good friend, Judge Herbert Jones,” Uncle George said, pointing. “You’ll be dealing with him mostly when it comes to crimes bigger than simple brawls.”

“Your Honor,” You said, shaking the older man’s hand.

“Jones is fine, boy. How old are you?” He asked.

“Twenty,” You answered.

“Old enough,” Jones said. “Welcome to town. Johnny’s been doin’ a hell of a job before now, but with Randall’s gang takin’ up residence just outside of town, we need the extra hands.”

“I respectfully disagree, Judge, but your word is, in fact, the law ‘round here, so I won’t complain,” Johnny said, leaning back as the barmaid set a his food in front of him.

“I recommended hirin’ on three deputies,” Jones said, pointing his fork at Johnny. “Be grateful you managed to talk me down to one.”

Johnny flicked his hat in acknowledgement and started eating.

“Oh, lord,” Uncle George said. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

I turned to look at the saloon doors and saw Lloyd come in, followed by another minotaur. This one resembled a Shorthorn, dappled red and white, and though taller than you, he was much shorter than Johnny. One of his horns was broken. He had a sunken, sallow look about his face and he had a cob pipe sticking out of his lips. He had an open bottle of something that he took a swig from.

“Oi!” The barmaid said in a heavy Southern Irish accent. She was wearing a leather corset over a lace blouse and a red bolero jacket. Her eugenia riding hat was festooned with silk flowers and feather fascinators. Her brown horse half was unadorned, though her black tail was intricately braided. “Ya can’t be bringin’ yer own booze in my establishment, ya gobshite! ”

“Settle, Bláithín,” Johnny said, standing. “I’ll handle this.”

“Ya better, boy-o,” Bláithín said, folding her arms. “They’re already owed a baytin for bashin’ me windas. Last those mogs set foot in here, they got scuttered and run out all my punters.”

“I got it, I got it,” Johnny said, holding up his hands.

“Hey there, Sheriff,” Randall said, walking up to Johnny. With the two of them standing face-to-face, their height difference was even more pronounced. “Heard you got a new deputy from Lloyd. Made quite the impression, as I heard it.”

Johnny snorted in annoyance. “Kid,” He said flatly. “You got callers.”

You stepped forward and to Johnny’s right. “Evenin’, Lloyd,” You said, raising your hat minutely. “I’m assumin’ this must be Randall. Howdy?”

“Howdy,” Randall said slowly, looking you up and down. “He’s a strong lookin’ fella, John. Thought you liked your boys soft.”

“ _Shut your mouth,_ ” Johnny said in a harsh undertone, a clear warning in his voice.

“What’s he--”

“Nothin’,” Johnny said, interrupting you. “Don’t meddle in business that don’t concern you.” His tone made it clear he was in no mood for questions.

 _Don’t concern me?_ You thought. Wasn’t Randall talking about past deputies?

Judge Jones stood up and folded his arms, looking at the scene dryly.

“Alright, boys, I think it’s time for y’all to be movin’ on,” He said.

“Now, now, Judge, we just got here,” Randall drawled.

“Bláithín’s rules are simple. No bringin’ in your own liquor, so’s I think you’d best be off.”

Randall took a long, long draw from his bottle while staring at the judge. When he was finished, he stepped in close, really close, to Johnny and whispered, “You got this town in your pocket, sheriff, but if I wanted, I could have you hanged with a snap of my fingers. I could bring a whole mob of people here and watch you dangle from a tree. You think on that ‘fore you go around tellin’ people what to do.” He backed up and turned to Lloyd. “Let’s go. We’ll be back, horse girl. Best have your best whiskey out or you regret it.”

“Go score a goat’s arse, you chancer!” She shouted at his retreating back, stamping her front hoof in agitation. They left through the swinging door, leaving silence in their wake.

Johnny was breathing hard. What Randall said had riled him up, but he was clearly struggling to maintain control. His sudden shift in temperament had completely confused you. He turned around mechanically without saying anything and sat back down at the table, continuing to eat his dinner.

“I believe it’s time to call it a night,” Uncle George said. “Interest you in a night cap at the courthouse, Herb?”

“Sounds good to me,” Jones said. “Boys,” He said, tipping his hat as he followed Uncle George out.

You turned and regarded Johnny, eating his stew as if he’d not eating in days, though he didn’t seem to be enjoying it. When he was finished, he downed his beer, threw some coins on the table, and walked out without a word.

You were going to go after him, but Bláithín stopped you.

“I wouldna bother him, buck,” she said. “John’s a solitary man. Needs his time alone.”

“What did Randall mean?” You asked.

“Even if I knew, it wouldn’t be my tale to tell, lad,” She said, wiping down the bar. “John’s a new addition to this town, only been here a month or two, brought on by the judge. Much of his past is a mystery, and he’s not exactly chatty about himself.” She rested her elbow on the bar and put her chin on her palm, sighing. “A shame, that. I’d like a crack at that buck, I’ll tell ya. Laid it on thick when he first got to town. Most of the ladies did. Handsome, stern, and stoic: who wouldn’t like that? But,” She said, straightening up. “He passed on all of us. Dedicated to his work, he said.” She went back to wiping. “Your stew’s gettin’ cold, youngster.”

You sat back down at the table with your thoughts in a roil. What on earth could Randall do to get Johnny hanged? Johnny seemed like an upright, by-the-book man, so what could Randall possibly have on Johnny that would have him so stressed?

You bought another beer to wash down your dinner and give Johnny some more alone time, then finally wandered back to the jailhouse.

When you went into the bunkroom, Johnny was either asleep or pretending to be. You didn’t bother him.

Sitting on your bunk, you began to take off your boots and belt, looking over at Johnny. He had his shirt off and was sleeping in his trousers, faced against the wall. You admired the sculpted muscles of his shoulders as they merged smoothly with the contours of his back and down. His behind filled out his trousers pretty well, leaving little to the imagination. You wondered what it looked like without…

Suddenly, it hit you like a bolt of lightning. Didn’t seem interested in any of the women, didn’t want deputies, kept to himself and didn’t talk about his past, had a secret that could get him hanged. Of course, it was obvious. Johnny was just like you.

You had been attracted to men since you could remember, and when you first told your father at age eight, he’d beaten you senseless. You found out that loving men was considered “perverse” and “indecent” and, more importantly, illegal. It wasn’t an executable offense, but lynch mobs didn’t care much about that. So you hid your true nature all your life, fending off women and keeping lovers secret, not that you’d had many.

You lay back in your bunk and stared at the ceiling, willing yourself not to ogle Johnny in the dark.

The next few weeks were unremarkable. The town was small and most folks were mild-mannered. The only place that seemed to have any trouble was the saloon, and Bláithín was more than capable of handling most scrapes that went on there herself. She came in to the jailhouse once or twice, dragging an unconscious drunk behind her while you and Johnny were playing blackjack for peanuts and pennies.

You and Johnny often ate your meals at the saloon, though Uncle George invited you, Johnny, and Judge Jones over for dinner once a week. He liked to cook, but in such a small town, he rarely had anyone to cook for.

All through this time, you’re trying not to think about whether or not Johnny was like you. If you told him and he wasn’t, he could arrest you and send you to the Sacramento big house for indecency. And if he was… what? You had to admit to yourself that you liked him rather much, but it wasn’t as if you could have any sort of relationship with him that was anything more than professional. In the city, people didn’t care about other people, but in small towns, people talked. You knew if you gave in and he reciprocated, people would talk. Johnny hadn’t been here much longer than you, but the people of Redington already respected and admired him. You didn’t want to strip him of his job, home, and dignity because you had feelings.

One afternoon, as you and Johnny were talking with Bláithín about her recent stolen packages, Randall came into the saloon followed his entire entourage, with Lloyd at his left elbow. The entire room went silent and a few of the bar’s patrons hastily threw down money and left. Bláithín stood as straight as her packhorse body would allow and both you and Johnny stiffened.

“Relax,” Randall said, holding up his hands in placation. “We ain’t here to start trouble. We just want some grub and a drink. That against the law now?”

“Bláithín?” Johnny asked.

“I haven’t ever officially barred them from entering, and as long as their payin’, I suppose there’s no harm,” She said slowly.

“Maybe we’ll stick around for a bit,” Johnny told her in an undertone.

“I’d appreciate that, sheriff,” She replied.

The boys settled around the saloon, ordering food and drink and being rowdy, but not so much that it would require tossing them out.

“Hey, sheriff!” Randall shouted over his buddies. He’d been watching the two of us whisper to each other. “You done breakin’ in that new deputy? Workin’ him hard, I bet.”

Johnny snorted, but you said in a whisper, “They want to rile you up. Don’t rise to the bait.”

Lloyd piped up next. “Yeah, I bet he’s so sore from his ‘job’ that he can’t hardly sit down.”

His men laughed uproariously.

“Johnny,” You asked him as you felt him getting more and more tense next to you. “We both know they’re criminals. Why haven’t they been run off or arrested before now?”

Johnny huffed in exasperation. “They’re careful about it. They do most of their… work… outside of the town limits, which means it’s outside of my jurisdiction. What happens out in the desert beyond the town’s boundaries is fair game. There’s no witnesses, so there’s no crime. My hands are tied unless they do something illegal within the town’s borders.”

“What would be enough to get them sent away for good?”

“Burglary, robbery… nothin’ good,” He said, eyeing the group as they howled with laughter.

You thought about what Johnny had said when you first got to town: _He loves any chance to prove he’s the biggest swingin’ dick on this side of the tracks._ “What about assault on a lawman?” You asked on a low voice.

Johnny frowned. “What’re you--”

“You know, Randall,” You said loudly, pushing yourself off of where you’d been leaning on the bar and advanced slowly. “You want to know what I think? Why you like pokin’ at Johnny so much?”

“Oh, do enlighten me,” Randall said in an amused tone.

“You’re jealous,” You told him simply. “Johnny’s got everything you want. Respect, money, integrity…” You looked Randall up and down. “Height. Looks. Brains. A backbone.”

Randall’s smile changed to a scowl in half a heartbeat. “That prissy dickweed has nothing on me.”

“If you mean smell, you’re exactly right,” You said, holding your nose. “Are you like an actual cow and roll in your own dung? That’s the only reason I can think of that you’d smell so bad all the time.”

Randall stood so fast that his chair flew back. His entourage also shot to their feet, their hands going to their gun belts.

“You’re either as stupid as you look or tryin’ to get your ass beat,” Randall said.

“That’s fair, I do have a hitable face,” You said.

“Kid, stop it,” Johnny said, grabbing your arm.

“Gotta protect your little boy toy, don’t you sheriff?” Randall said, cackling.

“What’s a-matter, Randall?” I shot back. “Mad he won’t take _you_ back?”

That’s what did it. Randall cracked you across the face. You were prepared for it, but he hit hard and you stumbled back into Johnny, who caught you and pushed you back onto your feet.

“That’s enough!” Johnny said. “Randall, you’re under arrest!”

“Like hell I am!” Randall said, drawing his gun. He pointed it right at Johnny.

“Look out!” You couldn’t push Johnny out of the way, he was too large. But you cold jump in front of him. The bullet was aimed at Johnny’s ribcage, but it managed to hit you squarely in the shoulder. It was enough to rattle the bones in your arm and you cried out in pain.

Johnny bellowed in rage and jumped into action, delivering a blow to Randall’s stomach that sent him sprawling, his gun skittering across the floor. Lloyd tried to retrieve it, but Bláithín stood there with her rifle, aimed at his head.

“Wouldn’t be doing that, if I were you, bucko,” She said. Two more of his gang rushed her, guns in hand, and she twirled with incredible agility and kicked them both hard in the knees. The snapping sound echoed throughout the saloon, and they went down screaming. The other four shot out of the saloon, into the street. Bláithín went out to follow them, but you stopped her.

“Leave ‘em,” You gasped, getting up off the floor, gun in hand. “They ain’t actually done anything. These four are the ones we want to worry about.”

Johnny was on the ground over Randall, pummeling him into the floorboards. You grabbed his arm as he was going down for another blow.

“He’s out, John!” You said. Johnny was breathing heavily and stared at you, his pupils pinpricks and hyperfocused, but he stopped and got up, breathing as though he’d run to the coast and back.

Bláithín was holding Lloyd at gunpoint. “These four inna going nowhere, John, but we need the surgeon. Run an’ get ‘im.”

Johnny stared at you for a moment longer, then obeyed.

Getting the bullet out of your shoulder was more painful than it going in, but there was no permanent damage. Johnny was at the other end of the infirmary, securing the other prisoners. He glanced back at you occasionally, as if making sure you were still there, although you were going to be in that bed for a day or two to make sure the wound didn’t open up or get an infection.

Uncle George and Judge Jones arrived shortly after, talking with Johnny in hushed tones. Jones and Johnny went off to another room while Uncle George came to sit on the cot next to you.

“That was a risky gamble, son,” He said, although he couldn’t bring himself to sound too annoyed at you.

“Ain’t this why you brought me out here?” You asked, a little woozy from the whiskey they’d made you drink before taking out the bullet. “To get rid of Randall?”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t expect you to get yourself shot!” He said, his annoyance bubbling to the surface.

“He was aimin’ for Johnny,” You said seriously. “A gutshot in that big guy would have been fatal.”

“Hmph,” Uncle George said. “Well, you’re not staying here with these hooligans. You’ll be staying with me till you’re patched up. Johnny’s gonna have to make a trip to Sacramento to bring back deputies from the big house to transport Randall and his men back that way. He’ll be gone about two weeks.”

Your heart sank a little, but you kept your face neutral.

“What about the four of Randall’s crew that got away?” You asked.

“Scattered like cockroaches after their leader got caught,” George said. “Just as well. They hadn’t actually committed a crime, they were just present when a crime was committed. Perhaps now they’ll move on and pester someone else.”

“Hmm,” You hummed. “Will the town be alright without a sheriff? I mean, with Johnny gone and me laid up?”

“Bláithín’s takin’ up the reins, so to speak, until John returns. She’s a capable woman.”

“I believe that,” You said, laying back with a tired sigh. “I think I might get some shut-eye, Uncle, if’n thats alright?”

“Sure thing, son,” He said, standing. “Got some paperwork to do, as it is. You rest easy. I’ll have you moved to my house tomorrow morning.”

You fell into a sodden slumber, feeling heavy. Later, you were awoken in the dark by a gentle shake.

“Wake up, deputy,” You heard a gravelly voice say softly.

“Johnny?” You asked, groggy and unable to see much in the dark.

“Yeah, it’s me,” He said. “I’m leavin’ out tonight. I want to get there and back as quick as possible, but… I… I wanted to thank you. For takin’ that bullet for me.”

“I’d do it again, John,” You said, still half asleep. “I’d do it a thousand times.”

You closed your eyes again, and there was silence. Perhaps he thought you’d fallen asleep again. You felt his hand take yours and hold it, gently caressing the knuckles. Your heart thumped when he pressed a kiss to it, but when you opened your eyes, he had dropped you hand and you could hear him hurrying out of the building.

You’re uncle had said it would take two weeks for Johnny to get to Sacramento and back, but he managed the trip in half the time. He was dusty and looked a bit thinner; it looked like he’d barely taken a rest the whole time.

By the time he got back, you were on your feet again and had taken back the job of deputy from Bláithín, though your arm was still in a sling. She gratefully relinquished it, though the town had been quiet with the offenders finally caught and out of the way.

“Welcome back, sheriff,” You said brightly as he leapt off his horse.

“Thanks,” He said. “How you holdin’ up?”

“My arm’s still stickin’, so I’m all good,” You said, wiggling your arm in it’s sling.

Johnny nodded, satisfied. “The boys from Sacramento are about an hour behind me. They’re at the train station, getting a bite to eat.”

“Have _you_ eaten?” You asked him. He shook his head. “Come on, then. I’m buyin’.”

“Nah, kid. You don’t pay for nothin’ when your with me anymore,” He said, smiling at you. It was the first actual, honest-to-god smile you’d ever seen on his face. It completely changed it, lighting it up and making him look…

You shook your head. Now wasn’t the time.

After you’d eaten, the deputies arrived. You followed Johnny into the jailhouse. As soon as Randall saw the deputies, he started screeching.

“They provoked me! Him especially!” He said, pointing at you.

One of the deputies banged the bars of the cell with his baton. “Hush up!”

“What about him then?” Randall asked, pointing at Johnny, his voice more menacing. “There are some things about him you’d probably like to know.”

“And how exactly do you know those things, Randall?” You asked him dangerously, getting in his face though the bars separated you. “How exactly do you know?”

Randall shut his mouth tight and glared at you.

“You said you had something to declare?” The prison deputy asked.

Randall’s jaw worked and he looked at you with pure venom.

“...no. No, I don’t.”

“Fine. Time to get moving,” the deputy said. Randall, Lloyd, and the other two of the gang were loaded into a barred paddy-wagon.

As they moved off, Johnny said, “Can’t say I’m sorry to see the back of ‘em.”

“You said it,” You said, massaging your shoulder a bit.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Not much.”

He snorted. “Quit tryin’ to be a hard ass. When’s the last time the bandage was changed?”

“Couple days.”

“It’s due, then. Come on, I’ll take care of it,” he said, walking back to the jailhouse. You follow.

He sat you down at the table and got a box from the bunkhouse.

“Take off your shirt,” He said.

Your heart threw itself into your throat, but you complied, carefully pulling your arm out of it’s sling and tugging the sleeve off.

“Lay your arm on the table and get comfy,” He said, pulling out strips of cloth and some salve.

He was inches away from you, and you could smell him. He smelled earthy and reminded you of home. Comfy was the last place you could be right now. Your heart was hammering.

He carefully peeled the old bandage off and inspected the skin, checking for infection. He was gentle. You could feel his breath on your bare chest and it was all you could do to hold still and not reach out for him. He gently worked the salve into your skin without hurting you much and re-wrapped the wound.

“...uh…” He started diffidently. He was purposefully not looking you in the eye. “Thanks… for pipin’ up for me. I don’t know… what you know… or… but…”

“John,” You said seriously. “Look at me.”

He looked up, his face stern and closed, but his eyes showed his true self. You bent forward and kissed him. He pushed you back immediately. At first, you were scared you misjudged him, but he was looking at you wonderingly.

“You… you’re…”

You nodded. “I’ve been holdin’ back because I didn’t want to cause you trouble… but… God, Johnny…” You rushed forward again and kissed him, harder this time, and he didn’t pull away. If fact, he gripped you tightly, causing you to yelp in pain from your shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry!” He said, letting you go at once.

You shook your head. “No, I’m fine.” You got up and bolted the door of the jailhouse. “Is this alright?”

He nodded, breathing hard and standing. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off as you unbuckled your belt one-handed.

“Are you sure?” Johnny asked, shedding clothes.

“Yes,” You said, pulling him down by the chin to kiss him again. His hands found your buttocks and lifted you so that your legs were wrapped around him. He swept off the desk and laid you down on your back, pulling your boots and trousers off. He reached over you, bending so that his body was flush with yours, and pulled open a draw on the desk. When he drew back, he was holding the bottle of oil that he used for sore muscles.

He put some on his fingers and rubbed it against your entrance, and you moaned. He worked the oil in while kissing you, eventually inserting one finger, then two, then three. His fingers weren’t exactly small, and the stretch felt amazing.

He moved you so that you were laying lengthways on the desk and reached back into the draw, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. He pushed the desk closer to the cell and took your hands, carefully lifting your arms up and cuffed them to the cell.

“Don’t move around too much,” He said as he climbed onto the desk between your legs. “Don’t want to reopen that wound.”

You nodded, breathless at the sight of him. His length had slipped out of it’s sheath and was standing at attention, brown and black like the rest of his body with a flat head. Johnny covered it in oil and rubbed it in,

“Ready?” He asked.

“It’s been a while,” You admitted. “I’m more than ready.”

“I can guarantee it’s been longer for me,” He said, chuckling, as he pushed himself slowly into you. You groaned with the sensation, your head falling back against the desk.

He took your knees in his hands and pushed them back against your chest and buried himself as deeply as he could go. Looking up, you saw a bulge in your belly were he had planted himself. He moaned as he slowly pulled back out and pushed in again, the bulge disappearing and reappearing with each thrust. Once he was confident he wasn’t hurting you, he sped up and you gasped. Your own member was bobbing and twitching against your stomach, and instead of grasping it, he reached underneath and rubbed his fingers over your sack, massaging the skin and making you cry out. You muted your noise, though, fearful that others would hear.

“ _Fuck,_ ” He breathed, leaning forward on his hands and speeding up. You could feel him twitching inside you, and he had trapped your cock between your stomachs, so as he thrust, he was rubbing it between the two of you.

“Oh, God, Johnny,” You gasped. You could feel yourself getting close, the friction of his skin against your length and the feeling of him working his against the nerves inside you made you feel like you were going to explode. Your body tensed as you came, spraying against you and him as he continued to move at a frenetic pace. The tension caused a little bit of pain in your shoulder, but you barely noticed it.

He reared up and grasped your hips, ramming into you with a fierce intensity until he came as well, filling you so full that your belly pooched again with the sheer amount he released into you.

He slowed to a stop, still inside you, and rested on his knuckles, wheezing.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, struggling to get his breath back.

“No, I’m alright,” You replied, just as breathless.

After some time, he uncuffed you and helped you down off of the desk, and the two of you cleaned yourselves up and dressed without speaking. Sitting back down at the table, you reached out for his hand.

“I know your worried about people finding out about… us… what we are…” You said. “But… I like you, John. I don’t want to stop this.”

“I don’t either,” he said with a worried frown, gripping your fingers tightly.

“I…” You gulped. “I could… I could talk to my uncle.”

“What?” Johnny said. “No, don’t! No one can know about this.”

“I won’t tell him about you,” You assured him. “I’ll tell him about me. Uncle George has been more of a father to me than my own father. If anyone would understand, he would. And even if he doesn’t, he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“You’re absolutely sure of that?”

“Yes,” You said, squeezing his hand. “Trust me.”

Johnny regarded you with a grim expression, but nodded.

That night, you stopped at your uncle’s house unannounced, which you had never done before, though the invitation had always been there.

“My boy!” Your uncle said, hugging you when he opened the door. “Good to see you up and about. What brings you by?”

“Actually, Uncle George, there’s somethin’ I need to talk to you about.”

“Well, this sounds serious,” He said, stepping back so that you could come in. “Maybe we could talk about it over a brandy?”

“That’d be nice, Uncle, thank you.”

He took you to his lounge and pulled a decanter from a shelf. “So what has you looking so dour, son?”

You took a glass and sucked in a deep breath. “Did you and my pa ever have a talk about me bein’… different?”

“Not as such,” George said, sitting in a chair opposite you. “Though my brother and I don’t see eye to eye on many things, so his definition of ‘different’ may not be the same as mine.”

You sighed. “Honestly, Uncle… I’ve always wanted to be open about this, especially with my family, but Ma and Pa beat into me that I… wasn’t right.”

“Not right how?”

Moment of truth. “I… You… You must be wonderin’ why I never had a sweetheart or been interested in marryin’. Truth is… I actually would like to be married… just… not to a woman.”

“...I see,” You uncle said slowly. You winced at his distant tone.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Uncle,” you said sadly.

“Young man,” He said. “You haven’t disappointed me.”

You looked up. “I haven’t?”

He shook his head firmly. “No, my boy.” He took a swig from his own glass. “You know, Herbert and I went to college together. We’ve been very close friends ever since. He lived in New York, but he came out here with me to be the judge. Did you know that?”

“No, sir?” You asked, confused by the question.

“Jones and I never married or had sweethearts, either, but our positions put us beyond reproach. People gossiped, of course, but we were members of high society. We had enough power to quash most of it.”

Your jaw dropped. “You… is that why Pa never invited you to the farm? I thought it was because he resented you for being rich.”

George laughed sharply. “That was certainly part of it.” He clapped you on your good shoulder. “Look, son, don’t worry. We still have to be careful, but Herb and I started this town to be a safe place for good people. You’re a good man.” He took another sip. “And so is Johnny.”

Your heartbeat hitched up. “Yes, he is.”

“More to the point, he’s safe. You make sure he knows that.”

You smiled and relaxed, sitting back in the armchair. “I will, Uncle.”

After talking with George, you went back to the jailhouse. Johnny was sleeping when you came in, and you slithered into bed with him. The beds were a little narrow, but you made it work. He snorted awake.

“Did you talk to your uncle?” He asked, cuddling you into his side.

“I did,” You said with a smile, kissing him softly. “It’s alright, Johnny. Everything’s alright.”

He sighed and threw the blanket over you. At ease, the two of you slept.


End file.
